BAMAKO, Aribert Raphael [read out loud books .TXT] 📗

you’re going with this.”
“Okay then, let me finish drawing the picture, you’ll understand soon enough. If Rheza is held at ransom, you, in your position, could certainly influence the Primature to take another look at Hjamal’s project. Therefore, it follows that if you were to go to Dakar, you would give Hjamal another opportunity to apply the screws on you and get you involved in the scheme—along with the Malian government. Don’t you see what Hjamal is doing?”
“Yes, I see.” Mohammed shook his head in dismay. In the end, he had to agree the best course of action was to stay behind and not get involved for now. Although it meant Talya was now on her own, and that wasn’t sitting right with him.

The rain had fallen overnight and the pavement was still wet. The temperature was so mild—it was almost cool—that Mohammed decided to walk to his office instead of taking the car. He would send a chauffeur to drive it back to the Primature later.
53
Later that day, Talya had just about as much as she could take. The rain had started to fall the night before. She was sulking like the clouds overhead. She lay on the bed, trying to shut the world out. She read, not seeing the words on the pages. The hours were stretching into the future. Her mind, chased by disjointed thoughts of self-pity, raced after the unknown.
In her diary, Talya wrote:
Here I am. Too many people are involved. Too many questions without answers. Who has these answers? I can’t see through this fog. I can’t find the thread. Where is Aziz? Why does he not answer my calls?
Savoi, Rheza—what happened to them? Where are they? Are they still alive? Those pieces of a puzzle—how can I make them fit? Nothing makes sense. Where will it all end?
And those infernal pieces of memories—my mind cannot rest. I cannot see through this confusion. They were three men... I was only a child. What did they do? They destroyed a part of my soul. Will my mind ever allow me to piece the nightmare into oblivion?

The phone rang. For a moment, Talya thought it could have been James returning her call. She looked at the clock and picked up the receiver. The receptionist was on the line.
“Madame Kartz?”
“Yes, what is it?” Talya was in a foul mood.
“There is a phone call for you from Dakar.
“Who is it?”
“Sorry, he didn’t want to give his name. Shall I put him through?”
“Yes please.”
“Madame Kartz?” Talya recognized the voice. Finally!
“Yes, this is she. Who’s speaking?”
“Monsieur Hjamal.”
“May I ask the reason for this call, Monsieur Hjamal?”
“I see that you don’t want to waste any time, neither do I. So, I’ll get right to the point. Monsieur Rasheed, my collaborator, has just returned from Bamako. He has informed me that you and Maitre Sangor were supposed to have arrived in Dakar on Wednesday.” Where did he get the idea I was going to fly to Dakar on Wednesday? “After verifying the guest registrations with a couple of hotels in town, we concluded that you had not made the trip. It was then that I decided to ring you at the Grand Hotel.”
“Before you go any further, Monsieur, let me say that I don’t appreciate you verifying my whereabouts, whether here or in Dakar, since I have not chosen to advise you of my intentions.”
“I understand your resentment toward my actions, but believe me, they were justified. We both know that it has become necessary for us to meet once more.”
“And you, unfortunately, have made it necessary, if not imperative.”
“I regret that the circumstances have made it so.” I bet you do. “And since you agree that it is imperative that we meet as soon as possible, I am sending my aircraft to Bamako tonight to fly you back to Dakar in the morning.”
“Why? I plan to be in Dakar on Sunday afternoon anyway.”
“I don’t think matters can wait that long.” Where’s the fire? “I cannot explain over the phone.” What a difference could it possibly make? “Our pilot will be waiting for you at the airport at nine o’clock, or earlier if you prefer.”
“I see.” Talya had to think, and fast. It was a case when hesitation may cost more than the decision itself.
“Okay, I will be at the private aircraft hangar at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.” What am I saying?
“Excellent! You understand of course, this invitation does not extend to Maitre Sangor or to anyone else in your party.”
“I understand perfectly. I can’t say that I’m looking forward to meeting with you again. I just hope the results will be worth the trouble.”
“I’m sure they will be.” For whom will they be worthwhile?
“Good bye, Monsieur Hjamal.” Talya rang off. She was trembling with rage and fear. She was fuming.
Talya’s first reaction was to ring everyone she knew. She picked up the receiver … then changed her mind. She went to the desk and wrote a letter.
When she was done, Talya went downstairs, had a delicious meal and read the local rag. Ashem came to her table and told her that he had a talk with their patient. Hassan apparently wanted to go home the next morning. Not even the courtesy of telling me he was leaving—nice!
As Talya reached her room, she heard the telephone ring. She rushed in and lunged across the bed to grab the receiver—she was hoping it was James.
“Ah. Talya, this is Mohammed. I almost gave up—”
“I was in the restaurant, I’m sorry. What’s up?”
“I had a long chat with Hassan today. He sounded a lot better. We agreed that he and I should travel to Dakar on Wednesday’s flight.” When the going gets tough, the toughs stay home, don’t they?
Talya looked up at the ceiling. “That’s best for everyone concerned, I guess.”
“I think so. Anyway, I’ll probably see you in the morning when I come to fetch Hassan …”
“At what time?” So that I’ll be sure not to be here.
“Hassan wants to leave by ten o’clock so I’ll be in a little before then. Oh, have you heard anything from anyone lately?”
“No, not a thing. Not a word,” Talya lied.
“Strange. I suppose everyone is waiting for Sunday.”
“I suppose so,” Talya said, sounding appropriately unconvinced.
“Well, Talya, if I don’t see you in the morning,” and you won’t, “I’ll ring you on Sunday before you leave. I’m sure Hassan will keep in touch in the meantime.”
“I’m sure he will. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Good night then. And, be sure to call if you need anything.”
All I need is your help to get your niece and your brother-in-law back. Yet, all of you have found a way to slither under a rock somewhere, haven’t you? Cowards! Obviously Talya’s fear had turned into reproachful and riling thoughts.
“I will, don’t worry.”
54
Talya opened the wardrobe. The previous night she had packed her suitcase and set aside comfortable underwear (very important), a pair of jeans, T-shirt, socks and walking shoes. She grabbed the lot and went to take a shower.
It was 6:00AM. Talya was going to travel light. The luggage was staying in Bamako. The only thing she was going to carry was a tote bag. In it she put the food she had saved in the fridge—oranges, biscuits and dried fruit bars—a bottle of water, sugar cubes, a change of clothes and other women’s essentials. She zipped it closed and looked around. On the table, she left the letter to Hassan, the room key and an envelope for Monsieur Gerald.
She went out quietly, took the backstairs and in a few minutes, she was hailing a cab. She arrived at the airport at 8:30, which would give her ample time to do a little checking around.
The only aircraft, evidently ready to take off, and resting proudly in front of the hangar, was a Lear jet. Talya wondered if it was Hjamal’s private air-transport. She would have bet her bottom dollar it was. In fact, and from what she had heard so far, Ahmed Hjamal wasn’t doing anything on the cheap. It seemed that everything he did was expensive, probably not for him, however.
As Talya was taking a look at other flying machines parked in the hangar, some very old and some not so old, she suddenly noticed two uniformed men coming through the door from which she entered earlier. She quickly hid from view. She was sure they hadn’t seen her. They were chatting in a friendly manner.
The security guard spoke first. “And where do you go today?”
“Kedougou first, to drop off a guest and then on to Dakar,” the other replied.
The latter was dressed in a pilot’s outfit, looking as sharp as they come. They walked off toward the aircraft standing on the tarmac away from where Talya was hiding. She had heard enough. She wasn’t going to Dakar. She was going to the mine site. “Please come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.” Although the prospect of being held in a compound, under what would promise to be strenuous circumstances, didn’t appeal to her in the least, Talya wanted to discover what made Sabodala a pivot point in this affair. Richard had been held at the mine against his will, and now Savoi, and perhaps Rheza, were probably detained there, too. Why would Hjamal want me in Sabodala? She had to find out.
Talya stayed out of sight and waited for the two fellows to be out of earshot, so she could move safely out from her hiding place. As if she had come in that very minute, she walked directly to the passengers’ lounge. That’s a very generous description for what was actually a run-down shack with three rooms, the walls painted in an awful barfing green, four seats, a desk, a typewriter on it, and a lavatory at the back. One of the seats was unoccupied. Talya sat on the edge of it. The two men and the woman, who had turned their glances in her direction when she marched into the room, were apparently expecting something. She had no idea what they were waiting for. She never had time to find out. They just sat there and resumed their interrupted conversation. Talya remained silent and smiled politely.
From the window, she saw the pilot come toward the lounge. He entered, closing the door behind him. He looked at the four people in the sitting room and rested his gaze on her.
“Madame Kartz?”
Talya stood up. “Yes. And you are?”
“Pierre Masson, Monsieur Hjamal’s company pilot.” She shook his extended hand.
Pierre was what Talya would call a typical Frenchman; crisp but charming manners, exuding suave chauvinism, in a gentle way, of course. He was handsome; black hair, hazel eyes and a smile that you’d kill for.
I’ve always had a penchant for men in uniform, but this one takes the cake.
“Have you got any luggage?” His voice was steady and almost commanding.
“No, I haven’t, Captain, just my shoulder bag.”
“Call me Pierre, please. So, we’re ready to go?”